In Memoriam
by Sadazen
Summary: I know what the shadows must look like now that her eyes have seen them. [Leon and Yuffie, insomnia, no particular pairing.]


**Disclaimer: **KH and all characters - property of Square-Enix and Disney. Fic - property of me. Dismal comparison, but.

**A/N: **Scribbled out for **mellish** when I heard she was down in the dumps. Also my first attempt at properly writing Yuffie, because I have the hardest time wrapping my head around her. I do.

* * *

**In Memoriam**

Sometimes I forget how much of a child she still is.

Somewhere in between one hour of the night and the next, I'm reminded by soft knocks on the far wall. If it's quiet enough, the sound carries—she shuffles out of her bed and across the floor, padding her way on all fours until she reaches the thin barrier of plaster and plywood that separates her room from my own. Sometimes I even think I can hear her shivering, probably in fear of something more than my disapproval.

I lean my back against that same wall without a sound, and in a split second she must determine my state—whether I'm asleep, or just being difficult. But she comes to the same decision tonight as she does every night. She knocks again, once or twice, searching the silence on the other side of the division as quietly as she knows how.

"Squa—Leon?"

Sometimes I don't answer. Sometimes I just tilt backward into the quiet, trying not to remember, trying not to listen too hard.

Only sometimes. The guilt usually gets to me first, even though she's been doing this for so long that I've gotten tired of counting the years. She knows I'm awake; I don't know how to leave her alone, sometimes.

-----

"What are you doing? You're going to wake—" 

"I won't," she snaps, cutting me off before I can finish. "Seriously. Aerith sleeps like she's dead."

"At least she sleeps." At least one of us does, I mean, but that's not what I say. "What's wrong, anyway?"

She doesn't reply for a moment or two, and the silence changes; it's almost indignant. Like she's trying to remind me that she's not five years old anymore, and nothing has to be _wrong_ per se, Squall-err-Leon-you-fool. Even if the truth of the matter is that everything is—everything is wrong, and the worst part is that it's not something we know how to talk about between the two of us.

"Nothing, really."

_I knew it._

"I just sort of had a bad dream, that's all," she goes on. "Couldn't get back to sleep. What are you still doing awake?"

_Weren't you looking for me?_

"Did you have a bad dream too?"

_I don't really dream anymore. You know that._

"Squall?"

"Leon."

"…Oh, good. You're still there."

_I'm still here._

-----

"You used to tell me stories." 

Her voice is so quiet. I almost pass it off as just my imagination. "What?"

"Don't you remember?" she says, with a bit of a laugh. I hear something catch; we decide at the same time to ignore it. "When we were small, and I dreamed about dragons, you told me stories. You said they were real—that they existed. That they could be defeated."

_I remember._

I remember, but it's changed, all changed, and even the nightmares she has are different now. She doesn't talk about them, not like she used to talk about the old ones, the ones about dragons… but I know. The reality that fills her head in the late hours isn't something any amount of soothing or empty promises can erase. I know that's what makes her knock and whisper, and I know what the shadows must look like now that her eyes have seen them.

"…Leon?"

It's just that sometimes I forget. Sometimes I forget that, like I've pretty much forgotten how to soothe and promise, and tell stories.

"Yeah, I'm still here."

_I'm sorry._

-----

Sometimes I even forget how it is that she can still manage to do this, after all this time. I've tried to remain cold for all our sakes, but she still finds warmth in me. She still reaches toward me, sifting through the layers for the same concerned hand of uncountable years, uncountable nights ago. She still knocks on _my_ wall; she knows I'll wake up when I hear it, no matter how late the hour. (Is it really because Aerith sleeps like she's dead?) She still remembers me playing her big brother, even if we're grown up and it's no longer the same. 

On nights like this one it feels like we haven't grown at all—like maybe we're shrinking, like she _is_ still five and I'm only eight.

"That was a really long time ago," I hear her say, and it was. I know it was—now I see just how much I've forgotten, or tried to. "Do you ever… Do you ever wish you could go back there?"

_Back where?_

"Back home, I mean. I wish that sometimes."

_I always wish that. How could I not?_

But that's not something I know how to say, not when home is an impossibility and retracing your steps leads nowhere. I wonder if she can hear the lie in my voice when I tell her, "I don't really think about it."

"Yeah?" Lie or not, it makes her laugh again. It's getting harder and harder to tell if the cheer is feigned, if I should start being afraid now. "I suppose I should have figured. You're good at that sort of thing."

_I have to be._

-----

She gently raps on the wall again, when I don't answer. She must be trying to bring me back to earth; I can picture her eyes on the other side, wide and blinking at my back. "Hey, is something wrong? You seem kind of far away." 

"No, I'm all right." I've used the answer so regularly that I don't have to think about it anymore. The words are on my lips and out in the air before I even get the time to try figuring out what they mean. The sky outside is already going light.

_I'm all right. I always am._

"You sure?"

No, I'm not sure, but that's not something I know how to say either. I stopped being her big brother a long, long time ago, when I forgot that dragons existed. I forgot that at one time I was sure they could be defeated. I forgot that. Sometimes I still do.

"…It's almost dawn. You should try to get some sleep."

But I have to remember. If I still remember that, I don't care if everybody else forgets.

**Fin**


End file.
